Miss Honey spends her Christmases abroad,
Saga jet her off to winter sun.
Convalescing from her latest face-lift
and the varicose veins that she’s had done.
She engages handsome Spanish waiters
in verbal intercourse to pass the time,
drinking in sunshine and sangria
she sings out ‘Danny Boy’ and ‘Auld Lang Syne’.
She dances away the early evenings
and hardly wears her outfits more than twice.
Mornings by the pool she spends relaxing
penning postcards from her ‘paradise’.
At home the best her sister can hope for
is a milder spell to break the freezing cold
as she warms arthritic hands on one bar,
an extravagance she barely can afford.
She wears her wardrobe of old cardigans,
tangling with a stubborn envelope.
An invitation to another funeral
she eyes the postcard from her sister, Hope.
She remembers family holidays in Spain
longs for the endless days of summer.
She looks once more at the invitation
wishing she could escape December.
wishing she could escape December.
